


the story does everything it can

by knightinbrightfeathers



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Almost Crack, Alternate Universe - Genre Twist, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, Gen, Jewish Penelope Bunce, Jewish Simon Snow, Korean Baz Pitch, M/M, Mild Language, Pop Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:18:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I thought you'd like to know that when I was singing in the shower, a bunch of bluebirds flew in and started singing along."<br/>Simon made a face so he wouldn't start babbling. "You shower with your window open?"<br/>"I sang a duet with birds," Baz repeated. "Have you ever heard bluebirds singing along to Queen?"<br/>"Bohemian Rhapsody?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the story does everything it can

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Metaphor of Human Bloody Existence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/313030) by [lady_ragnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell). 



> This is 100% ridiculous, and I deeply apologize to lady_ragnell for taking the idea that her fic planted in my head and turning it into crack.  
> Title from "The Story of the End of the Story" by James Galvin.  
> Also, Watford is a real place. This fic does not take place there.  
> Edit: there's an addition at the very end of the story, just a line. EVERY TIME I SWEAR

Simon's life should have been perfect.

It's true that perfection is difficult to describe, let alone achieve, but Simon's life was wonderful. For example, his job: cook at Bunce B&B, which also served lunch, tea and dinner, as well as the person who did the finances because capitalism made Penny break out in angry rants. He had free reign on the menu, as long as it was kosher, and Penny was a great boss, since she never told him to do anything. There was the town; Watford was quaint without being cheesy, modern without being loud, idyllic and full of a sense of community that drew the right kind of tourist as well as good weather and low taxes. It was beautiful, little more than a village surrounded by countryside, but with really good Wi-Fi and cellphone connection. And then there were the people, Niall at the pharmacist's and Dev at the bike repair shop, Martin at the grocery shop and Elspeth the vet. There was Agatha, who'd been Penny's best friend after she punched a bully in kindergarten, her pen pal when the Wellbeloves moved away in 10th grade, and her best friend again when Agatha moved back to Watford, and bartended at the inn on nights when there was a party and the pub owner visited his sister on her sheep farm. Watford was a very tightly knit community, where everyone knew everyone and if you sneezed before going to bed your neighbors would show up in the morning with chicken soup. It made things a bit hard on newcomers, but there were so few of these that it didn't matter. There was his little flat, which was really just the second floor in Ms. Possibelf's house. She was a great landlady, apart from her insistence on the very strange hours on which he could use the washing machine. There was his bike, which had a basket in front and made Simon feel nostalgic for nothing in particular, especially when it had food or flowers in it.

There were only two things, really, that were the Brussels sprouts in Simon's otherwise perfect salad. (It was probably a character flaw for a cook to dislike something, but Simon felt that Brussels sprouts were a conspiracy and could go screw themselves.)

One of them was Tyrannus Basilton Pitch; the other was the fact that the town was completely bonkers.

Tyrannus Basilton Pitch was the town's newspaper editor, and subsequently, in such a small town, also the writer of most of the articles. He had been Simon's rival since the second grade, when Simon moved into the Bunce home. There had been a misunderstanding with a cat, and severe words were exchanged. The misunderstanding came to blows, and although it was cleared up, the bad blood between the boys was not. Since then, although Simon was friendly with every other citizen of Watford, he exchanged only glares and contemptuous sneers with Baz (the contemptuous sneers were on Baz's side.)

As for the other metaphorical Brussels sprout... well, best explained by an example. There had at some point been a plan for a fast food chain to open a branch in the town. It had been a Quizno's, not even a McDonalds, but the townspeople were opposed to it. There was talk of writing a letter to the CEO, or staging a protest, but before anything was done, the Quizno's people packed up shop and scrammed. One day there was a building site with a fence pasted with pictures of cheery white people eating sandwiches, and the next the fence was down, the builders were gone, and the property was owned by a Miss Lucinda Wen. The building resumed, but the builders were local and the job was done quickly. Lucinda was an out-of-towner, and odd (the consensus was that she was an artist, and since she occasionally wandered out of town in wellies carrying a big pack, it might have been true.)

It had been very abrupt- one day there was a cheery corporate bloke in cheap suits telling people that Quizno's wanted to be a part of the community and support local franchises, and the next there were only the building foundations.

And then there was the matter of the alligator...

But there were a few things leading up to it.

_\\*/_

The Quizno's thing was the first strange little occurrence that drew Simon's attention, and after that they just seemed to crop up. When he thought about it, everyone who was in a romantic relationship in Watford had either been childhood sweethearts or had a meet-cute. Well, that was easily explained by the town being very small, although the meet-cutes were a mystery. Even Elspeth and her beagle Wensleydale had a meet-cute. (An adorable one. Penny had asked him once if he was sure he wasn't a Bunce, since he had the same love of romance that both Penny and her mum Tamara had, which had sent Tammy off to foreign parts, armed only with a determination to do good and a camera.) Also, Mr. Chilblains, who technically owned the pharmacy even though he spent most of his time gardening, had once dug up a golden goblet that glowed mysteriously and drew an awful lot of rabbits and swallows, so that he had to sell it, even though it looked very nice on his mantelpiece. There had been Martin's long-lost twin, who turned out to be his _evil_ long-lost twin (evil consisting of kicking a kitten, stealing half of Martin's stock of sweets, and running away when Martin regretfully reported him to Officer Benedict.) Dev's first business almost cost him his house until he inherited a sizable fortune from a distant uncle, on the condition that he marry only a woman as beautiful as said uncle. This caused some confusion, since Dev didn't have a picture of his uncle, but since Dev was ace aro he didn't really mind, and he turned out to be a much better repairman than he was a florist. Elspeth's beagle Wensleydale rescued a child who had fallen down a well by alerting its owner with a series of barks, never mind how the boy had found a well in the first place.

Simon was at a loss. It made no sense at all. Watford was ordinary as a boot, or rather, it should have been. Instead, it was like something out of a story- no, out of several stories, each one more far-fetched than the last.

Simon ruined two soufflés in his preoccupation with Watford's oddness, which caused a foul mood. Luckily there was no need to make dinner, since the only reservation at the inn that evening had been cancelled, the honeymooning couple in question having unexpectedly won a week in Tahiti.

It was a rare night that Penny's presence at the inn was not required, since they did a roaring business for somewhere so out of the way. Simon sent a group text and dragged Penny out the pub with only token protest about there being perfectly good alcohol at the inn. (They hadn't replaced their little stock since the last time Agatha tended bar, and the only alcohol was Simon's cooking alcohol, which nobody was allowed to touch, so the protests really were very symbolic.) Everyone had jobs, and none of them wanted to be alcoholics, so the young people of Watford didn't often go drinking, really drinking, but a pub night with Penny was rare enough that everyone came. They'd all buy her a round, probably, and maybe the pub owner would break out the ancient karaoke machine, and Elspeth would drink them all under the table, and Baz would have a talk with the barman and there would be a new cocktail to try... _the poncy arse_ , Simon added absently. It was by then a matter of habit.

They were all waiting outside the pub- a more-or-less grand entrance was traditional, and tended to scare all the grumpy old men away for the night- because Agatha was late. She'd sent a text that she was definitely coming, but it was parent-teacher night, and the local school, small as it was, had its share of trouble kids who freed the class hamster and mothers who were worried that little Sarah Jane was being mistaken by her teachers as an average child when she was in fact a prodigy in the sciences. Therefore she was running late, and Niall had begun to sing, which always passed the time, since he never remembered the words. He'd reached the middle of "Take Me to Lunch", to the tune of "Take Me to Church", when Agatha raced up. They spotted her crossing the road, waving cheerily, and waved back, when a car came charging down the street.

It was a fact of life in Watford that, although there were well paved roads, hardly anyone owned a car unless it was a pickup truck meant for supplies. Most people used bikes. And now, here there was a very fast car, a sports car done up in red with flames drawn on the sides, a car which, as it sped towards Agatha, who had noticed it and frozen in the middle of the street, did not look as though it meant to stop...

It didn't stop. They watched in paralyzing horror as the car came to within a meter of Agatha, but just as it seemed as though all was lost and the pub night would turn into a horrible tragedy, Penny leaped into the street, knocking Agatha to the ground, away from the car. The whole ordeal took less than a minute, but it seemed as if something had changed irrevocably. The car sped down the street and out of town, on its way to god-knows-where.

Penny was lying on top of Agatha in the street, but she got up, offering Agatha a hand up. Agatha took the hand very slowly, making eye contact with Penny the whole way and not letting go of her hand even when she was standing. Her bag was still slung over her shoulder, but her hair was in disarray. Penny's skirt had bunched up so it looked as if she were wearing trousers.

"You saved me," Agatha said, in the kind of tone reserved for miracles.

"I couldn't not," Penny said, in the kind of tone reserved for wedding vows.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Elspeth asked, in the kind of tone reserved for slightly oblivious veterinarians who had just watched their friends escape a painful death.

This seemed to shake both women out of their reverie, enough so that they got off the street and walked into the pub. Agatha insisted that she was fine and that there was no need to cancel, hand still firmly in Penny's.

None of them had seen the car's license plate, or the driver, and none of them recognized the car. There had been no injury done, and by the tie they'd drawn up enough tables and chairs for everyone, they'd all moved on to other topics, like the soccer team and the kitten Wensleydale had adopted (there had not yet been enough alcohol imbibed for the discussion to turn into the usual Star Wars vs. Star Trek argument, or for Dev to turn it into an argument about politics, which usually turned into a creative swearing contest.)

Everyone except Simon. He drew shapes in the condensation on his beer glass and considered what he'd just observed, to wit, another bit of evidence that proved that Watford was nuts.

"Why the long face?" Baz sat down next to him with a full glass.

Simon scowled. "My friend almost died."

"Yes, but she didn't. It's not like you to dwell on things." Baz took a long pull of his beer, tipping his head back so the long pale line of his neck was exposed. Simon resolutely stared at his own beer.

"It was a meet-cute," Simon said, making _meet-cute_ sound like _cholera outbreak_.

"What was?" Baz squinted at him. "Did I miss a part of the conversation? Are we talking about movies now?"

"No. I meant Penny and Agatha. It was a meet-cute."

"A car nearly ran over Agatha, I don't think that's very romantic."

"Penny saved her. Did you see their faces? Like a Disney movie." Simon gestured at the two women, who were sitting very close together, faces close, talking quietly and occasionally giggling. They looked enormously happy. "I bet you they're still holding hands."

"And this is a problem how? Unless you're jealous of Penny," Baz said. Simon shook his head. "Well then, since I find it hard to believe that you're in love with your foster sister, I have no idea what your problem is."

"They can't _have_ a meet-cute. They've known each other since they were tiny. And Aggie moved back three years ago, so it should've happened then..." Simon cocked his head to one side. "Yeah, it was happening back then, there was the girl at the shop that turned out to be the heir to that duke."

"What was happening back then? You sound mad," Baz added quickly. "By the way."

"Sod off, then," Simon said.

"No, come on, you've got me interested now. Anyways, it's more interesting than Niall's new shipment of cartoon sticking plasters."

"How much have you had to drink?" Simon asked suspiciously.

"This is my second, don't worry your pretty head about it." Baz took another gulp of his beer. "Go on."

Simon shrugged. "Fine. I have a theory that this town is completely bonkers."

Baz laughed, causing him to snort beer up his nose. "Ow. How'd you come by that theory? Did your landlady change the laundry hours again?"

"I don't have to tell you, you know," Simon said.

"No, but you want to. I promise not to laugh at you anymore." Seeing that it was a little bit of a stretch for Simon to believe him, Baz held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

"They kicked you out of the Scouts," Simon said.

"They kicked both of us out," Baz countered. "Go on, Simon, tell me how you decided that Watford, England is Crazytown."

"The coincidences just pile up. You remember when old Chilblains found the Holy Grail in his vegetable garden?"

"It wasn't the Holy Grail, it was just a really old goblet," Baz said.

"With Ancient Hebrew all over it, and it healed Chilblains' arthritis, but only when his niece visited? And there was Wensleydale saving Johnny Hayworth like he was something out of the Famous Five-"

"It wasn't that deep a well, someone would have found him."

"Dev's uncle with the weird will? Martin's long-lost evil twin?"

"He wasn't evil, just a bit of a crook." Baz frowned. "I'll give you Dev's uncle, though."

"The car just now. The treasure chest the Shaw kids found. The school winning the national whatever-it-was championship through the power of friendship."

"You know they didn't really win through the power of friendship, right? It was just what I wrote in the paper."

"How did they win, then?"

Baz considered it for a while. "Maybe they did win through the power of friendship."

Simon grinned triumphantly. "See? Every couple in this town were either high school sweethearts or they came together with a meet-cute. Do you remember the American exchange student in 9th grade?"

"Scheinbauch, sure."

"He was here for one year. The same year the headmaster got arrested and no one knew why."

Baz raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying Micah Scheinbauch was a secret agent?"

"I'm not saying he wasn't," Simon said.

Baz gave him a long, assessing look. "All right, were you drinking at the inn before you came here?"

"No," Simon said firmly. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either."

"Well, it is kind of mental," Baz said. "Tell you what."

"What?"

"I believe you."

Simon stared at him. "No, you don't."

"I can give it a try. Don't look so surprised. Most of this stuff should be in the _Chronicle_." This was the town paper. "There isn't much that goes on around here, so I put in anything that's even mildly interesting. We can look it up in the archives, see if you're right about all this."

"The _Watford Chronicle_ has archives?" Simon asked.

"It has my attic, and I keep everything on a hard drive. You could come over and look through it."

"I have work."

Baz shrugged. "You could come Saturday."

The BB&B kitchen didn't work Saturday, because Penny kept Shabbat even if she did have a complicated relationship with God. Simon, who rejected religion on principle and only kept kosher out of courtesy to his foster family, had most of the day off, after setting out a cold breakfast. It annoyed some customers, but Penny wouldn't take any bullshit.

"I could," Simon said carefully.

"Well then," Baz said. Before he could say anything else, Martin shouted "Space!" and Niall joined him in roaring, "The final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise..."

"Not again," Simon muttered, and Baz gave him a grin- Simon almost fainted in shock- before attempting to drown them out with "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away," which was as far as he got before Elspeth started chanting "Uhura! Uhura!"

This finally managed to draw Penny out of her bubble, and the conversation devolved into Penny's Princess Leia lovefest. Agatha egged both sides on, and in the hubbub, someone plunked another beer in front of Simon. There was nothing for it but down the remains of the first and help Penny by inserting Yoda quotes into the mix.

_\\*/_

Simon woke up with the feeling that a squirrel had taken up residence in his mouth. The squirrel turned out to be his tongue.

Somewhere very close, an unfamiliar alarm began to beep, and a voice rough with sleep said, "Ugh, why."

"Oh my god, please turn it off," Simon said, clutching his head. His mild headache was increasing in strength with every beep.

And then he realized that he wasn't in his own bed, and that there was someone else in bed with him.

"Oh, no," he whimpered. _Please let it be a complete stranger, please let it be a complete stranger..._

"Bloody hell," Baz said, sitting up. He looked paler than usual. "Please tell me we didn't have sex. That would definitely prove your theory. I will sacrifice my firstborn for us not to have had sex last night."

Simon felt slightly insulted. "We're fully dressed," he pointed out. "Or at least I am. Shoes and all."

"Never was I so grateful for someone putting their shoes on my sheets," Baz said, sighing. "I'm going to have to sacrifice my firstborn."

"Shouldn't be a problem, you're gay," Simon said. "I need to get to work."

"At seven in the morning? You didn't have any guests last night, you won't have to be there for a few hours."

"You want me to stay?" Simon asked. When Baz didn't say anything, he said, "Right. I'm going to go home and change. The whole town's going to think we fucked by noon."

Baz nodded soberly. "It's karma."

"For what?" Simon climbed out of bed, and Baz followed him. He was still wearing his shirt, but not his trousers. Simon did not look. Definitely not.

"I don't know, maybe last night's cocktails."

Simon opened his mouth to ask what those had been, exactly, because he was sure he hadn't drunk that much and he could hold his liquor, and tripped over a stack of paper. "Wow, your place is a mess."

"It isn't usually," Baz said, catching him before he fell and pulling him upright. "This must be why you came here."

"What is it?" Simon crouched down. "It's copies of the _Chronicle_."

"I hope they're in some kind of order, or they're going to take ages to sort out," Baz said, with the voice of one who has no trust for his drunk self.

"Good luck with that," Simon said fervently, almost sprinting towards the stairs. However, his attempt to escape before a neighbor spotted him ostensibly doing the Walk of Shame but really doing the Walk of Bewilderment and Newly Discovered Feelings was halted by the door being locked.

"Who locks the door in Watford?" Simon grumbled. "Where's the key, Baz?"

"Key... key..." Baz trotted down the stairs and began doing the fumbling search of someone who is now very much regretting last night. "It must have fallen behind the table. Hold on." He then proceeded to stick his arm in the gap between the hall table and the wall and fish around vigorously.

"Every moment I spend here increases the likelihood of the town gossip turning us into shameless hussies," Simon informed him.

"Oh, what do you- oof- care? You're Penny's- hah- brother. You can do no wrong. Here we go, move over." Baz unlocked the door and threw it open dramatically. "Ta da! Here you go, person I did not have sex with last night at all and who is a pure and honorable virgin!"

"Shut up," Simon said, blushing furiously. "And I am not."

"Honorable? Pure?" Baz's leer would not have looked out of place on Dracula when faced with Lucy Westenra.

"Oh my good sir, please let me leave or my reputation will be tarnished for ever more and the baron will turn away from such a spoiled flower, et cetera," Simon deadpanned. "Bye."

"See you Saturday," Baz said, and ushered Simon out.

The pain in his temples promised an unpleasant walk home, but Simon girded his loins, set his face toward home, and let out a short, sharp scream.

There, parading down the sidewalk as if it hadn't a care in the world, was an alligator, or perhaps a crocodile. Simon wasn't big on reptiles, but whatever it was, it was huge, easily twice as long as Simon was tall, and Simon was not a short man. It was a brilliant green and, Simon noticed, in that way the brain has when it is faced with imminent death and wants to treasure every moment left, had red eyes and smelled like smoke...

"Hullo, Simon dear," Mrs. Kaplan said, from behind him. Simon heard her door swing shut. "What are you doing here without your bike?"

"I'm a bit busy right now, Mrs. Kaplan," Simon said. The alligator sniffed at him and opened its jaws in a toothy, pointy grin.

"Whatever could you be doing- oh, dear." Mrs. Kaplan sounded a little miffed. "Shall I call pest control?"

"Yes, please. But call Elspeth first," he called as he herd her door swing shut. "Oh, bugger."

The alligator was advancing, not swiftly but menacingly, as if treasuring every step that brought it closer to its prey. Simon considered his options. Option one: he could stand and wait- no. Option two: he could run away, but who knew how fast the thing was. Option three: he could hide in Baz's house until a reptile wrangler came.

This sounded like the nicest option, since it meant he got away from the alligator. Without taking his eyes off the alligator, Simon inched backwards down the little lane to Baz's porch. The alligator matched him, step for step, but it was far enough that Simon didn't piss himself.

 _Careful_ , Simon told himself. _Don't trip... easy..._ His foot struck the first porch step.

It was then that the alligator chose to let out a burst of flame.

Simon shrieked and ran up the three stairs, scrambling across the porch to bang on Baz's door. "Baz! Baz!" No answer. "Open up, you bloody fucknugget!"

"What now," came from inside.

"Open up right now!"

"You just left, what do you want-" Baz jerked open the door and came face to face with a very panicky Simon. "What's wrong?"

"The alligator," Simon said, a tad hysterically. "The big green one right behind me."

Baz looked over Simon's shoulder. "Good grief. All right, come in."

"Thank you," Simon breathed.

The alligator let out another little puff of flame. Simon could feel the heat of it on the back of his legs.

Baz's eyes widened. "Wait here," he said, and slammed the door.

"What- no! You arse!" Simon turned around, pressing his back to the door. The alligator swished its tail. "I hate you!"

There was a sound of something heavy falling, and someone running down the steps as fast as they could, and then the door opened so Simon almost fell and Baz thrust something cool and heavy into his hand. "Here."

"Why are you giving me-" Simon looked down. "A sword? Really?"

"Look, it’s simple. That's a dragon, you're the virtuous hero. Slay it."

"I don't know how to use a sword! Can't you do it?"

Baz sighed. Warm breath brushed Simon's ear. "No, actually. You're white and blond and handsome and good hearted and humble and all that, it's got to be you."

"Handsome."

"Yes."

"Goodhearted."

"Yes."

"Humble."

"You went from Michelin star restaurant in London to village inn cook."

"I just really hate making salmon jelly with whipped asparagus for rich people," Simon said. "Also, I sold that restaurant for quite a lot of money, I think that disqualifies me."

"Look, just hold it off until someone comes and shoots it. Hopefully there's a crossbow somewhere in this town." Baz gave him a little shove. "I'll be watching." The door clicked shut, and Simon was left alone with the dragon. He took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on the sword so he could hold it in both hands, swung said sword over his shoulder, and charged.

The sword was heavy. Simon was a strong man, but even so, he could only manage haphazard swipes at the dragon, which roared and puffed flame at him. The fire licked at Simon's jeans, but instead of darting back, he dodged around it to stand in the street. The dragon backed down the lane remarkably quickly for something so big and lumbered around to face Simon again. A powerful jaw snapped at him, and Simon darted backwards before stabbing at the dragon's prominent nostrils. A small amount of blood appeared, which caused the dragon to roar and set fire to Simon's jacket.

"It's going to roast me and eat me!" Simon yelled, tearing off his jacket hurriedly and tossing it at the dragon. The dragon caught the cloth and chewed it a little before deciding it didn't like leather and incinerating the jacket.

There was the sound of a window opening. "Try to look less tasty," Baz said.

"I'm wearing sneakers! Sneakers aren't tasty!" Simon told the dragon.

"I beg to differ."

"Say something useful or shut up," Simon said.

"Hey! Dragon!" Baz shouted. "Over here! Prey without sharp bits!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Simon stumbled out of the way as the dragon turned around and advanced towards Baz's house. A burst of flame turned the rhododendrons into a pile of ash. He ran a little ways ahead and to the side of the dragon, aiming the sword towards its eye, and stabbed. The dragon let out a chilling squeal. Simon ignored it and pushed the sword deeper in until it could go no further. The dragon slumped to the ground and spasmed before ceasing motion altogether. Simon pulled the sword out and, turning aside, threw up.

"Shit," Baz said, and then his door opened and slammed shut and he was holding Simon upright with an arm around his middle. "Are you all right?"

"Probably burned my arm a bit," Simon said weakly. "Nothing really hurts." He straightened up and let Baz walk him inside. "You owe me a jacket."

"Yours was too big anyways," Baz said. "I'll get you a new one." He led Simon into the kitchen and made him sit down before bringing him a glass of water. "Drink up, or Penny'll have my head."

"What will she do, bite it off?" Simon groaned and slumped forward, resting his head on the table. "I killed a dragon, Baz."

"Yes, you did."

"The sword's probably dripping brains all over your floors," Simon said.

"Disgusting. Give it here." Baz took the sword from Simon's unresisting grasp and deposited it on the kitchen counter. "Dad would be proud that someone used his old _hwando_ for something."

Simon looked up. "Hey. Fuck him, okay?"

Baz gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Look at you, comforting me when you almost got turned into barbecue. Show me your arms."

"It doesn't hurt that bad," Simon protested, but he winced when Baz touched the angry red skin on his left forearm.

"Uh-huh. Anything else get burned?" Simon shook his head. "Okay, wash it in the sink with cold water and I'll get the burn ointment." Baz patted him on the shoulder and went off, presumably towards the bathroom.

When he came back, Simon said, "The dragon brains are drying on your counter," and Baz swore.

_\\*/_

Baz made Simon call in to work, and since news traveled in an almost magical capacity around the town, Penny had already heard a garbled version of what had happened. She assured Simon that he could take the day off, reminded him that he could call her whenever he needed, and cheerily recommended he stay where he was so Baz could take care of any emotional or physical ailments that popped up.

"She wants me to stay," Simon told Baz when he hung up. "I can go if I'm you'd rather. I don't want to bother you."

"That's a new one," Baz said.

"I'll go-"

"No, stay. You won't be in the way. Actually, we could get started on the newspaper archives, if you're up for it."

Simon made a face. "It's a first degree burn, not a broken arm. I've had worse from a hot saucepan."

Baz eyed him and nodded. "All right, Mister Bravado, let's get cracking."

_\\*/_

The mess upstairs looked even worse after Simon had fought a dragon. He couldn't even think of doing anything about it without a groan escaping him.

"Seconded," Baz said. "Look, you don't have to do this right now. You're all shaken up. Go downstairs, make yourself a bowl of cornflakes or something, and take a nap on the couch. I'll wake you in a few hours."

"But..."

"You look dead on your feet. Go on, scoot."

"Thanks," Simon said.

It felt a bit odd being in Baz's kitchen by himself, but ultimately it was just a kitchen and Simon felt at home in kitchens. A raid on the cabinets produced a bowl, a spoon, and a mostly full box of Coco Pops. The fridge yielded a carton of milk that smelled okay and not much else. Simon finished his breakfast- how odd that it was still morning, that less than an hour had passed since he woke up- and washed his dishes before stretching out on Baz's surprisingly comfortable couch, taking care to keep his sneakers off it.

He woke up some time later, disoriented, to the sound of someone knocking on the door. It took him a minute to realize where he was, and in that time Baz had come down the stairs.

"Go back to sleep, I'll handle it," Baz said. He went outside and closed the door behind him.

Simon lay back down, but he wasn't tired anymore, and the sun was in his eyes. He got up and climbed up the stairs.

The papers strewn across the floor were now in neat stacks. Some of them were taken apart. Although it was an improvement on the mess earlier that morning, Simon couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Soon enough he heard Baz's climb up the steps. "Hey," Baz said, sounding surprised. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks," Simon said. "Who was it?"

"Pest control. They said they'd never seen anything like it. They were with Elspeth and there was that artist woman, something-or-other Wen."

"Lucinda," Simon said absently. "Probably wanted a look. I wonder what kind of art she does."

"Landscapes? What else is there around here?" Baz sat down on the floor next to Simon. "What do you think?"

"I have no idea," Simon said. "What's each pile?"

"It's sorted by genre," Baz said. "I found this list from last night." He dug a hand into his jeans and removed a crumpled piece of paper. Simon took it, ignoring how it was faintly warm.

"Enid Blyton, mythology, spaghetti... what's spaghetti?" Simon asked.

"You're the chef." Baz shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. Maybe Spaghetti Western, you know, cowboy movies."

"Right..." Simon scanned the list. "I suppose you've got something a bit more orderly?"

"I didn't write it down, though." Baz pointed to each stack in turn. "We've got children's books, Arthurian legend, pop culture, urban legend, and that one's tropes I don't know what to do with. Evil twin, honestly. It's still a bit of a mess, and some of them cross genres."

"Really?" It was interesting seeing Baz really get into something. His usual cool, ironic demeanor slipped and his face lit up.

"Yeah, like the holy grail? It drew rabbits and swallows, right? That's a Monty Python reference."

Simon tossed his head back, groaning. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Hm? Oh, no. What... is your name?"

"What... is your quest?" Simon countered.

"What... is your favorite color?"

Simon laughed. "Wrong line. Hey, this would probably be much neater on the computer."

"I do love a nice graph."

"I was thinking more of a table?"

Baz blinked at him. "That... was a joke."

"Oh." Simon blushed. "Okay. I'll just go and, I'll just get on the computer." He scrambled up off the floor.

"Password's _gangshi_ ," Baz said.

"What now?"

"It's a Korean vampire, kind of. Sucks the life force out of its victims." Baz shrugged when Simon gave him a look. "Inside joke."

"Okay. How do you spell it?"

It took them all day to sort out a system with which to sort the news stories. You could split each category into smaller ones- for example, children's stories split into Enid Blyton, E. Nesbit, and Beatrix Potter, which made Baz shudder. The morning's dragon was placed into both fairy tale and mythology, and Simon insisted that it also belonged in urban legend, "like sewer alligators."

"It was a dragon," Baz pointed out.

"It looked like an alligator, though."

"Not really."

By the time Baz set down the last paper and pronounced the task complete, it was evening and Simon's stomach was grumbling. He stretched, spine crackling, and said, "How about dinner?"

"Oh." Baz's voice sounded funny, but when Simon looked, he was looking at the floor. "I don't think I have any food."

"I can cook," Simon offered. "I mean, I can go eat at home, if you want."

"No! No, stay." Baz looked up, smiling at him. "If I make my own dinner it'll end up being cereal again."

"And you're almost out of milk," Simon added. "There's just enough for a cup of coffee. Two, if you stretch it."

"Damn. Do I need to go grocery shopping?" Baz got up, brushing off his khakis.

"No, I've been in your cupboards, I can make a decent meal out of what's in them."

"You've been in my cupboards, huh?" Baz waggled his eyebrows. "Where else have you been?"

Simon laughed. "Well, I haven't been in your restroom, and I need to use the toilet right now."

"It's downstairs," Baz said, and Simon tried not to imagine him walking up the stairs in only a towel. This was really getting out of hand.

_\\*/_

"I'm going to keep you," Baz announced, watching Simon bustling around the kitchen. "You've made me food. I'm going to tie you up and keep you forever."

Simon was glad that the pot of pasta sauce gave him an excuse to keep his back to Baz. "I can't cook if I'm tied up."

"I'll let you out for some things, obviously. You can cook and shower."

"How generous of you."

"I'm nice like that." Simon could hear the teasing in Baz's voice. "I'll be a very good kidnapper. You'll develop Stockholm Syndrome quick as you like."

"Food's done," Simon said, serving two generous portions of pasta a la puttanesca. "I don't suppose you have parmesan?"

"I have moldy cheddar," Baz suggested.

"Parmesan isn't even a moldy cheese."

"Yes, that's exactly what's wrong with what I said."

A few seconds of silence, and then:

"This is amazing. I'm going to keep you forever."

Simon ducked his head and hoped Baz couldn't see his blush.

_\\*/_

"You don't have to wash up," Baz said.

"You're hosting, it's the least I can do," Simon said.

"You cooked," Baz countered.

"You let me sleep on your couch."

"You killed a dragon."

"It wasn't your dragon. It was more like a public service."

"Consider me the grateful public, then," Baz said drily. He joined Simon at the sink. "Put the dish soap down, Snow."

"It's only a little bit of washing up-"

"How are you so stubborn-"

They ended up face to face, staring into each other's eyes, hands inches from each other in the sink, gripping the same bowl.

Simon backed down first, snatching his hand away. "Yeah, okay."

"Simon-" Baz sighed. "Thanks for dinner."

"No problem. See you." Simon fled the kitchen and let himself out, ignoring the neighbors peeking at him from behind the curtains in favor of jamming his hands in his pockets and walking home in a jumble of emotions.

_\\*/_

Simon got up early the next day, ready to get a head start on preparations for lunch.

There was a round mark on the outside of his door, and a decided scent of tobacco in the air.

"I need to be fifty to deal with this bullshit," Simon told the door. "Also, a different species."

_\\*/_

"Someone to see you," Penny said, sticking her head in through the door around noon. "He says it's very important."

"If it's a diner, tell him I'm very grateful and very busy," Simon said, but he already knew who it was.

"It's not a diner," Penny said. She slipped in and shut the door behind her. "Do you want to talk about something, honey?"

Simon sighed and wiped his hands on a towel. "No, but thanks for asking. I'll be there in five."

"All right, he's waiting in the foyer." She hesitated. "I'm going to Agatha's. Could you maybe stay here tonight? Pretty please?"

"Sure, Pen. Use contraceptives!" Simon called after her as she left the kitchen.

Baz was indeed waiting in the foyer, inspecting one of the photos on the walls, a colorful market stall. "These are pretty good," he said.

"Tamara sent them and we decided it was time to replace the paintings we had up." Simon crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"

Baz turned to face him, pointedly taking in Simon's defensive stance. "I thought you'd like to know that when I was singing in the shower, a bunch of bluebirds flew in and started singing along."

Simon made a face so he wouldn't start babbling. "You shower with your window open?"

"I sang a duet with birds," Baz repeated. "Have you ever heard bluebirds singing along to Queen?"

"Bohemian Rhapsody?"

"Don't Stop Me Now. Does it matter?"

"I guess not." Simon closed his eyes. "I found a mark on my door in the morning and it smelled like pipe smoke."

"I don't get it."

"My door's green." Simon opened his eyes to Baz's quizzical expression. "The Hobbit?"

"Oh. You do kind of have hobbit hair." Baz scrubbed a hand over his face. "This is getting out of hand."

"Well, what can we do about it?"

Baz started. "I was talking about something else, actually... never mind. I don't know. Anything I can think of only adds to the insanity."

"Maybe we can trace it back to the catalyst?" Simon suggested.

"That could give us something to start with, I guess." Baz ran a hand through his hair. "I'll get back to you on that."

"Thanks. Um, Baz..."

"Yes?" Baz looked at him hopefully.

"You know we have each other's phone numbers, right? You can call or text me, you don't have to come down here."

"Right." Baz turned away woodenly. "I'll call you."

"Bye," Simon said, feeling as if he'd missed something critical.

_\\*/_

When Simon checked his phone a few hours later, there were three texts in it.

 **That Bloody Prat:** there are mice in my sink

 **That Bloody** **Prat:** I think they're trying to wash my coffee mug

 **That Bloody Prat:** they might be singing

Simon snorted and began typing out a text before changing his mind and changing the contact name for Baz's number to **Baz**.

 **Simon:** youve been cast as a disney princess

He took a sip of his coffee and started to shove his phone into his pocket when it let out a beep.

 **Baz:** this is a travesty

 **Baz:** no but really this is an escalation

 **Simon:** its kind of cute actually

 **Baz:** :o

 **Simon:** i dont think its an escalation. most of the other stuff was pretty blatant we just ignored it

 **Baz:** there were mice doing my dishes

 **Baz:** there is bird shit all over my bathroom and stairs

 **Baz:** I refuse to take this lying down

Simon began writing a reply, hesitated, erased it, and wrote:

 **Simon:** have you found the catalyst yet

 **Baz:** working on it

 **Baz:** have you ever tried remembering anything weird that might have happened years ago? it's a smidge difficult

 **Simon:** no i haven't

 **Baz:** well there isn't anything in the paper

 **Baz:** you know...it's not that bad

Simon dribbled a mouthful of coffee down his shirt.

 **Simon:** bluebirds. mice. DRAGON

 **Baz:** ...point

 **Simon:** have you looked for anything that happened a little after it started?

 **Baz:** that's the thing

 **Baz:** there doesn't seem to be a starting point. or if there is it started when the Chronicle was a double sided page of sheep feed ads

 **Baz:** and you know how nothing never changes in Watford

 **Simon:** you hav a point in here somewhere im sure

 **Baz:** we could try Lucinda Wen. she's literally the only big change that happened in the last three years

 **Simon:** what about the fountain in the town square

 **Baz:** srsly? it's a fountain. Also it was blocked for a while because of a toad.

 **Simon:** ok we'll visit lucinda. but no intimidation tactics or anything, just a nice chat trying not to appear crazy

 **Baz:** intimidation tactics? not actually a part of the mafia

 **Simon:** no youre a disney princess

 **Baz:** are there any korean disney princesses?I don't think so

 **Simon:** do you want to have the racism debate right now or can we do it face to face

 **Baz:** done. call when you have time and we'll arrange a heart to heart with miss Wen

 **Simon:** stop being creepy

 **Baz:** 8)

Simon tucked his phone back into his jeans and spent the rest of his coffee break with a smile hovering on his lips.

_\\*/_

Simon stopped at Martin's shop on his way home to pack an overnight bag for bread and jam- his toast habit was getting out of control- when his plans were once again interfered with by the cruel hand of fate. Or possibly a space-time portal. Simon was very open to options.

"Marty? What's wrong with the vegetables?" Simon called when he came face to face with the lump of ice that took up a quarter of the store.

"Oh, someone broke their hand mirror over the artichokes earlier and they just started freezing."

"Um..."

"Yeah." Martin rounded the corner of the shelves and patted Simon on the back. "Best not to think about it, really."

"It's like in the Ice Queen," Simon said, a trifle hysterically.

"The Hans Christian Andersen one, right? With Gerda and Kay?" Martin hummed thoughtfully. "I don't see it, myself."

"Artichoke hearts."

Martin laughed. "Good one! It's probably just the freezers playing gyp, though. Someone's coming to fix them tomorrow." He strolled back towards the counter. "Need any help, miss?"

"Artichoke hearts," Simon muttered, and pulled out his phone to text Baz, turning away from the miniature Ice Age.

Lucinda Wen looked up at him with almost worrying focus.

Simon let out a little shriek. "Fu- I didn't see you there."

"No," Lucinda said. "You had your back to me."

"You walk very quietly," Simon said.

"You don't listen very well." Lucinda took a step backwards and looked him up and down. Simon was used to being assessed in such a manner, usually by young guests at the inn, but this wasn't her checking him out. It felt like he was being scanned through and through. "I hear you fought a dragon."

"It's possible that it was a sewer alligator." Simon coughed. "That breathed fire."

Lucinda ignored this. "You used a sword."

"Yeeees?"

"Was it yours?"

"No, it was Baz's. Um. Basilton Pitch?"

"The newspaper editor. Ancestral sword?"

Simon shrugged. "He said it was his dad's, but maybe."

Lucinda frowned, shaking her head as if her worst suspicions had been confirmed. "Do you have anywhere you need to be?"

"I guess not."

"Good, be at my house in half an hour."

"...can I drop off my groceries first?"

"You can do that at Baz's house, when you pick him up."

"We don't actually live together?" Why did all his sentences end in question marks? For a person half his size, Lucinda Wen was very scary.

"You don't?" Lucinda asked.

Simon felt obligated to say, "I don't actually like him that much."

"Of course you don't. Silly of me. I'll see you in half an hour, then." Lucinda turned away, heading towards the check out counter.

Simon leaned against the shelf in relief, yelped and jumped away when he realized it was cold and wet, and left his bread and jam among the tinned carrots. He could explain when he got to Baz's house. He had a feeling that this wasn't something that could be communicated over the phone.

_\\*/_

Simon dropped his bike on Baz's path and knocked on the front door. Well, more like hammered on the front door, but he'd pay for the paint job later. "Baz!"

A few seconds later Baz answered the door, panting a little and looking around with wild eyes. "What happened?" He fixed his gaze on Simon, or rather, Simon's chin. Simon was looking at the sky and had gone red. "What is it?"

"Do you always answer the door half naked?"

Baz looked down at himself. "My printer got jammed and I got ink all over my shirt. You needed me?"

"Um, what?"

"You knocked on the door for a reason, right?" Baz sighed. "Oh, for heaven's sake. I'll go put on a shirt. You might as well come inside." He stepped inside and walked up the stairs, leaving Simon to will his cheeks to cool down and watch Baz's backside advance up the stairs, the latter of which rendered the former useless.

Baz came back a few minutes later, mercifully fully clothed. "So."

"Lucinda Wen came up to me at Martin's shop and asked me stuff about the dragon and your sword. She told me to meet her at her house in half an hour, and bring you."

Baz narrowed his eyes in thought. "When was this?"

Simon checked his phone. "Fifteen minutes ago?"

"Let's go, then." Baz grabbed his keys from the entry table and ushered Baz inside. "My bike's at Dev's, though, the chain broke."

"You can ride on the handlebars," Simon said. He picked up his bike and straddled the seat. "Come on, she scares the crap out of me."

"She's one and a half meters, you wuss." Baz eyed the bicycle nervously. "Maybe I'll walk."

"It's just a bike. Didn't you do this when you were a kid?"

"I was six stone!"

Simon sighed. "We can do this the easy way, or we could do this the hard way."

"And I'm the mobster." Baz placed a hand on each handlebar and gave a little jump, ending with his backside on the handlebars. "There."

"Are you steady?" Baz nodded. "Hold on, then." Simon ran a little, awkward and thinking _I hope I don't screw this up..._ He dropped into the seat and started pedaling, and soon enough Baz let out a whoop that made Simon grin despite the crick in his neck from craning to see around him.

Baz hopped off the handlebars when Simon stopped in front of Lucinda's house, his usually neat hair in flyaways all around his face. "That was fun."

Simon grinned at him and propped his bike against the little picket fence around Lucinda's house. "Let's hope this next bit is too."

"Do you think she'll shove us in her oven and eat us?" Baz joked.

"No," Lucinda said from the doorway. Both boys jumped. "You're late."

"Sorry," Simon said. "There was a mishap."

Lucinda waved a hand at them airily. "Yes, I'm sure all the sexual tension got in the way. Come in."

Lucinda's house on the inside was...well, normal, although there were little knickknacks here and there that looked like something out of a New Age crystal shop, or like something Marie Antoinette would have on her dresser if she was also into pagan worship. Simon and Baz sat on the sofa, trading uneasy glances and maintaining an odd, neither-here-nor-there distance between them.

"Please stop acting as if I'm a wicked witch," Lucinda said, sitting in a tailor's seat in a squashy armchair. "I'm one hundred percent human, just like you." She squinted at them. "Well, probably. I have that blood test around here somewhere... Were you both born here?"

"No," Simon and Baz said, in perfect sync.

"At least I don't have to go digging through the medicine cabinet," Lucinda said. "Would either of you like some tea?"

"I actually don't have that much time," Simon said, as politely as he could manage considering that he was practically oozing unease. "So if we could get to business, that would be great."

Lucinda shrugged. "Sure. But I warn you, it's going to sound ridiculous."

"Why?" Baz asked.

"Because I have to use tropes to get around the thing around Watford."

"Thing?" Baz prodded.

"Curse? It's more like a kind of condensed literary regularity field, but curse is so much shorter." Lucinda gave a little sigh at Simon and Baz's expressions, like a shopkeeper telling someone for the tenth time that week that no, they don't stock the iPhone 4 charger, sir, this is an Android store. "I told you it was going to sound weird."

"Explain?"

"Baz, use words," Simon murmured, and got an elbow in his side for his trouble.

Lucinda smirked. "It goes like this. There is something in Watford or its environs that causes occurrences to confirm to storylines."

"Like meet-cutes!" Simon said, too loud. He winced. "Sorry."

"Yes, like meet-cutes, or killing dragons with swords. There are a lot of examples. I think the cause is in the town itself, because I've been in the woods around here, and they're weird, but not that weird."

"Were there rabbits in waistcoats?" Baz asked, in the tone of one who already knows the answer.

"Yes, there were," Lucinda said sadly. "I've seen this before, but never to this scale. And usually you get this kind of thing in Ireland, Norway, Japan, maybe Russia, although they stamp this kind of thing out fairly quickly over there. It doesn't happen in rural England."

"We're not rural," Simon protested.

Baz coughed. "I put an article about sheep feed in the paper last week," he said when Simon looked at him.

"It doesn't matter, really." Lucinda waved the argument away with a hand. "The point is, it's a problem. Potentially dangerous."

"Like, magical illnesses?" Simon asked. "Giants, bridge trolls, that kind of thing?"

"Dragons," Lucinda said flatly. "That kind of thing."

"Great." Baz leaned his head on his hands, elbows on his knees. "So what do we do? Call in the government? MI42?"

"Why," Lucinda asked, in a tone of horror, "would we call the government?"

"Aren't you government?" Baz asked. "Undercover agent sent in to find out why everyone in Bumfuck, England-" he ignored the little choking sound Simon made- "is suddenly part of their very own hero arc?"

"I'm not government," Lucinda said, her nose wrinkled in disgust and eyes scrunched, making her look like a disgruntled cat. "I'm from the Society of Narrative Influence Prevention."

"SNIP?" Simon said dubiously.

"You come up with something better," Lucinda snapped. She took a deep breath. "Look, I need to really go into the town records, as far back as I can find. I'm here doing my paying job, not my volunteer job. I thought it was only in the woods until the mayor offered his daughter's hand in marriage to whoever could solve three riddles."

"We already did the research," Baz said.

"You did?"

"Uh huh, as far back as the _Watford Chronicle_ goes."

"What did you find?" Lucinda _tsk_ ed at Baz's uncomprehending look. "Was there any predominant genre?"

Baz shook his head. "Not that we could see, right, Simon? There was even some mixing between them."

Lucinda winced. "Crossovers. Can you send it to me?"

"Sure, it's in Excel format," Baz said, taking out his phone. "What's your email address?"

Simon got up. "Excuse me. Lucinda, where's your restroom?"

Lucinda pointed at a flight of winding stairs. "Upstairs, the blue door. Right, email address. Girlwithcat@gmail.com."

Simon nodded and escaped up the stairs. In the restroom, he stared at himself in the mirror.

"This is mental," he said out loud. Thankfully, his reflection didn't reply or even look sympathetic. It just looked harried and wind-tousled. Simon tried to smooth his hair down, but to no avail. How long had it been? He flushed the toilet in case it could be heard in the living room and left the restroom.

Once he'd reached the top of the stairs, he heard Baz saying, "...could be considered as harm."

"I don't quite catch your meaning," Lucinda said.

"Well, they're fake, aren't they? How can it be a real relationship if it's spurred on by a story?"

"It's only the beginning of the relationship that's a story."

"But isn't the rest of it shaped by a story as well? Is it even real? Isn't it forcing someone into love without their consent?"

"I suppose you're asking for a friend," Lucinda said, drily, and Simon realized, _of course, Penny and Agatha_.

Baz snorted. "That's too cliché even for Watford."

"I think it's real. It's love, after all. It's complicated. Nothing can fake that for years and years, or even for a few days, well enough to convince two people they're in love."

"But couldn't it make someone act on an impulse they wouldn't usually?"

"So do alcohol and lack of sleep. I'm sure you know the difference between wanting to kiss someone- or screw them- and between caring for them and wanting to spend time with them and know them better."

"Yes, I do." Baz was quiet for a while, and then: "But... they might act on something, and regret it later. It could ruin a...a friendship."

"Why don't you talk with them, then?" Lucinda sounded vaguely impatient. "Do you think your friend's going to be out of the restroom any time soon?"

Simon, shaken, took this as his cue to go down the stairs. "I looked at my phone and I'm sorry but I have to go, I promised to watch over the inn for Penny tonight."

"It's all right, there's nothing much to be done until I go over your research." Lucinda sighed. "I'll see if something jumps out at me, but I can just tell that it's going to be a pagan ceremony in the end. I'm warning you beforehand, Simon, you'll probably have to head it."

"Why me?" Simon asked.

Lucinda raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious?"

Simon felt like a lump of mud with a caffeine high, dumb and heavy and jittery. "No."

"You're blond, tall, handsome, and an orphan."

Baz coughed. It sounded suspiciously like laughter. "The story thinks you're pretty."

Simon scowled at him. "Foster kid, not orphan. And I'm twenty five, does it even count anymore?"

Lucinda made an apologetic face. "To the story, it does. You killed a dragon with a sword. It doesn't get much more protagonist than that. You might as well have a prophecy and a birthmark."

"Okay. I... I have to go." Simon held onto the knowledge that Penny needed him to do something. It was the only stable, normal thing he had. "I'm going to go."

"You can go," Lucinda said, not unkindly.

"I'll come with you," Baz said, getting up. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."

Simon laughed harshly. "I'm fine. Nothing awful happened to me."

"Fine, then I shouldn't be alone. Neither of us should. You can take us to the inn, and I'll take your bike home so I can mail Lucinda the files and come back. Okay?" Baz ushered him towards the door. "Bye," he added belatedly.

"Keep in touch. If something tries to kill you, I need to know," Lucinda said, perfectly serious.

_\\*/_

The ride down to the inn wasn't tense. It could have been, but by the time Simon remembered that Baz's bum was practically in his hands, they were there. That was how preoccupied he was.

"Do you need anything?" Baz asked, once he was sitting on Simon's bike.

"No," Simon said absently. "Wait, yeah, I forgot. I was going home to get an overnight bag."

"Clothes, toothbrush, hair product?" Baz said. "Joke."

"Clothes, toothbrush," Simon said, nodding. "Here." He handed Baz a key. "My flat's pretty small, it's not hard to find the dresser. You know where it is, yeah?"

Baz stared at the keys. "You want me to go into your house?"

"You don't have to if you're uncomfortable with it-"

Baz closed his hand over the keys and stuffed them in his pocket. "No, I'm good. I'll be back before you can say jack."

"Take your time," Simon said, and went inside the inn.

Penny was waiting inside, quick to accept his apology for being late and spout instructions at him, as if he'd never done this before. No one would really need him unless there was an emergency, but Penny kept talking until she was out of the inn and on her bike.

"Have fun," Simon said, slipping it in between her sentences.

Penny's expression softened like warm honey, sweetness collecting in her eyes and the creases of her smile. Like this, Penny always reminded him a little of Tamara, and the comfort both of them always brought him spread through his insides.

"You'll be fine," she told him, not so much a show of confidence as a sign that she could tell he had something on his mind and that she would let him simmer for a bit before making him open up. "Call if you need anything."

"Go away, mom," he said pointedly, and Penny stuck her tongue out at him before riding off.

It took a few minutes for that calm to disappear, and a few more for the tension that had been missing from the bike ride to emerge, limber and ready to party. It took almost an hour for Baz to come back. By the time Simon got the text that said _I'm here, where are you_ he felt like he had a blender in his brain; he couldn't think. Agatha and Penny were smart girls and they would figure it out if they weren't in love, they wouldn't let it ruin a friendship or the group, and besides, it wasn't exactly a surprise to see them dating. If anything, their meet-cute was unnecessary. They were the perfect friends-to-lovers story, complete with starry-eyed mutual admiration and _ahem_ platonic _ahem_ flower bouquets.

No, Baz had been talking about himself. He'd talked about being coerced. He'd talked about not real.

Were they friends?

No. They weren't. Baz had picked on him, and hit him, and put ants in his science project...

In school.

He'd done all those things back. Well, except for the science project thing. He'd retaliated by snipping little holes in Baz's gym shorts.

They were friends. Weren't they?

He sent back a text that said _come in from the back door through the garden_ and dug his nails into his palms.

Kind of. They were in the same group. Which was kind of inevitable, considering how small Watford was...

Except he liked all of them.

He liked Baz.

But did he _like_ like Baz?

"This is not high school," Simon told his shoes. They didn't answer back. Thank god.

"Hey, you in there?" Baz called softly.

Simon opened the door. "Hi," he said.

"Hi." Baz had a bag slung over each shoulder. One of them was a backpack he'd never seen before. The other was the ugly tote he'd gotten at a bookstore once. "I can come in, right? I didn't bring my tent."

Simon nodded and stepped aside to let Baz divest himself of the bags. "There are two bedrooms upstairs and one on this floor. They're all a little small." The part of the building that wasn't the inn, where the family lived, was really just a slice off the rest of it, and everything was a little cramped.

"It's one night, I'm sure we'll both survive," Baz said. "And I know how the house is built, really. I've been here before."

Simon blinked. "You have?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but this is kind of a small town. Everyone was friends with everyone." Baz sat down on the couch, which more or less made up the entire living room along with a stiff, carved horsehair chair and a tiny coffee table. "There's meat pies from the bakery in my backpack, by the way. I figured you wouldn't want to cook."

"Yeah..." Simon sat down on the coffee table. It brought him close to Baz, but the horsehair chair had been in his childhood nightmares. "Were we friends?"

"No," Baz said slowly. "You poured sand down my trousers."

"You drew on my face in permanent marker," Simon countered. They grinned at each other. "Are we friends now?"

"Two days ago I would've said kind of." Baz shrugged. "We were civil."

"More or less," Simon said. "Isn't two days a short length of time to become friends?"

Baz crossed his legs. Simon tracked the motion with his eyes. _They might act on something, and regret it later_. "Why are you asking?"

"I heard you talking with Lucinda," Simon said.

Baz drew in a sharp breath. "How much?"

"You were talking about how the whatever-it-is field could make people act on impulse. And you weren't talking about Aggie and Penny," Simon said. "I'm not stupid. Please don't try to pretend you are."

"I don't think you're stupid," Baz said lightly.

"Baz." Simon rubbed a hand across his face. "Please."

"It's such a ridiculous story, isn't it," Baz said, dropping his head into his hands. "Enemies to lovers."

"Enemies," Simon said. "In ninth grade."

"We're not friends, Simon," Baz said sharply, and lifted his head from his hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I'd like us to be friends. Proper friends."

"What impulse?" Simon asked.

"Please," Baz said, echoing Simon. "Please can we not talk about this?"

"No, we're talking about this."

"I've had a crush on you practically since you came back to Watford. Happy?" Baz's tone wasn't even angry. He sounded sad. "Don't worry, I won't touch you."

Simon sat without moving until Baz said, "If you don't mind, I'll stay the night. You're acting strange."

"Good night," Simon said hollowly, getting up from the coffee table and picking up the tote on his way to the staircase. He was halfway up when he said, "No, wait, what impulse?" and came back down again.

Baz huffed out a breath. "You know, it's not nice to rub salt in my wounds."

"Are we talking about the impulse to, say, touch someone's hair and laugh at their jokes, or the impulse to bend someone over a table and fuck them silly?" Simon sat down on the coffee table again, which creaked alarmingly. "Because I've had the second one for years, like, in high school."

Baz's jaw dropped. "I've got whiplash."

"I'm not going to kiss you," Simon said. "But after we do Lucinda's pagan ritual, you can take me out."

"Can we go back to the first part, where you want to touch my hair and laugh at my jokes?"

"Your hair's a mess," Simon said, and Baz's hand flew up to check. "It's escaped the ponytail."

"In a bid for freedom from the tyranny of hair grips," Baz said, and Simon giggled. "You giggle. You do that."

"Stop it, we're not doing the weird thing with the pining and the starry eyed wonder," Simon said. "We're going to be sensible."

"We're going to have dinner like normal people," Baz agreed.

"And watch a movie on Penny's laptop."

"And go to sleep," Baz said. "In separate beds."

"Actually, I don't know how my storming off to bed would have worked," Simon said. "You can't sleep in Penny's room, she lives there, and Tamara's mattress is like concrete."

"I'll sleep on the couch."

"It's a love seat," Simon pointed out.

Baz's smile widened. "Is that why you won't sit with me?"

In response, Simon got off the coffee table and let himself fall with a _thump_ onto the couch. "I don't love you," he told Baz. "And you just think I'm cute. And smart. And talented."

"Oh, please, I'm just in it for the food."

Simon closed his eyes and asked a stupid question. "Why do you like me?"

Baz probably rolled his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes."

"At first I just thought you were fit, and not so much of an asshole anymore."

"And then?"

Baz sighed. "You do realize that this is a terrible conversation, right?"

"Sorry." Simon got up. "I'll go get Penny's laptop, she's got all the Lord of the Rings movies on Netflix."

"I'll warm up the meat pies," Baz said. "I can use a microwave, at least."

"Thank goodness Penny got one, Tamara doesn't believe in them," Simon said, grinning as he climbed up the stairs.

Later, after a nice, energetic argument at whisper volume which Simon won, Baz took Simon's bike to his own house. Simon walked him to it, feeling self conscious in his pyjamas.

"Night," he said.

"Night," Baz said. "You know, the hero thing..."

"Yeah?" Simon couldn't have felt less of a hero in his stupid Mickey Mouse t-shirt, which he felt Baz had chosen on purpose.

"You don't have to do it alone."

"Thanks," Simon said. "Really. Thank you, for everything."

"Yeah, yeah, no one likes pagan rituals," Baz said.

_\\*/_

Penny showed up bright and not too early in the kitchen, ostensibly to help but really to check on how the night had gone.

"You Netflix queue is horrible," Simon told her. "Here, bring out the eggs."

Penny took the platter. "Avoiding the subject."

"Nobody died," Simon said.

When Penny came back, eggless, Simon pushed a platter of fruit into her hands. She took it and set it aside. "Simon, sweetie, what's wrong?"

"The fruit-"

"The fruit can wait." Penny leaned on the counter. "Talk to me."

Simon sighed. "Is it weird to start dating someone you've known forever?"

"Not for me," Penny said. "But we're not talking about me and Agatha, are we?"

"Wouldn't it have happened before, if you were..." Simon spread his hands. "I dunno, meant to be?"

"What's meant to be? We got a wake up call." Penny leaned forward and tapped Simon's forehead lightly. "Good morning, you big goof, who do you fancy?"

"No one," Simon said, too quickly, and Penny grinned at him.

"I'm not letting you off this easy. You owe me." She snatched up the platter and whirled away, humming.

_\\*/_

Penny didn't have a chance to interrogate him until late evening, when she took pity on him and sent him home. He borrowed her bike and whizzed off, slightly unsteadily, towards the sanctuary of his own bed and shower.

There was a tree lying across the road. There was no sign that it had come from anywhere, and the gap left between the tree and Ms. Wilkin's prize hydrangeas was blocked by a cat.

"What," Simon said to the cat wearily. "What do you want."

"Mrow," the cat said, and batted a piece of paper at Simon.

Simon picked it up. "What has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three in the- everyone knows this riddle," he told the cat. It was wearing a little sweater. "Everyone. I'm not giving in to this bull." He stepped over the fallen tree- barely more than a sapling- and lifted Penny's bike over it as well. "Also, you're not a sphinx. You're just a cat in a frankly ugly sweater." Simon shook his head. "I'm being mean to a cat. I'm sorry, cat, I'm just worked up about the pagan ritual."

"Perfectly understandable," someone said.

Simon, his back to the cat, paused. "The cat didn't talk," he said. "Cat, you didn't talk."

"Small town people," the voice said, and now he recognized the voice, just a little. "I could have moved anywhere. I'm a graphic designer. I can go places." Simon turned around to look Lucinda in the eye, and she continued blithely on. "This isn't my cat, by the way. The sweater's tasteless. I would never make Gizmo wear a sweater. He'd claw my eyes out."

"What are you doing here?" Simon asked.

"I was on a walk to clear my head, and now I'm checking on you. What's the cat doing?"

"It's being a sphinx," Simon said.

"I see. The answer's man. How are you doing?"

"All right," Simon said.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Lucinda said. "You've got 'heroics freak me out and so does this lady' written all over you."

"That's... specific."

"I've seen it before," Lucinda said, shrugging. "Anyways, it's good that I caught you. I've nearly got the ritual mapped out."

"That was speedy."

"I picked it out of the guidebook. It only needs a few adjustments." Lucinda looked a little sheepish. "You're, ah. We'll need eight people."

"Eight peop- why?"

"Seven for the circle, and one to do the deed. All locals. You're the deed doer. Baz is one of the seven."

"Will we need bells and a dog?" Simon asked sarcastically.

"Don't forget the cat," Lucinda said mildly, catching him out on his Abhorsen reference. "I suggest you do the convincing as quickly as possible, because the tree and the cat disappeared when I answered the riddle."

Simon looked down. "Shit."

"I shouldn't have let it get this far, but it accelerated... I'm just a volunteer," Lucinda said suddenly. "I'm too underpaid for this shit." Her eyes widened in horror and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, no. Involuntary pop culture references."

''Those are a thing?" Simon asked incredulously.

"Clearly you've never been to Comicon. I'm going home. You get six more people to do something loony, and fast, before soundtracks starts happening." Lucinda ran off, leaving Simon gaping and at a loss.

"Oh, my hydrangeas!" Ms. Wilkin shrieked. "Simon Snow! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"But I didn't... yes, Ms. Wilkin, sorry, Ms. Wilkin, won't happen again, Ms. Wilkin," Simon said hurriedly, and hopped on Penny's bike to ride back the way he came.

_\\*/_

"Please explain why you need to have a conference call at ten at night," Baz said, voice tinny through the speakers of Simon's phone.

"Yes, do explain. I sent you home for a reason," Penny said, sitting across from Simon on her living room couch.

"In a minute," Simon said. "Baz, Lucinda said it's getting very bad."

"How bad?"

"She said we'll get soundtracks."

"Damn it, that does sound bad," Baz said.

"Someone explain what the hell is going on," Penny said, voice tight. "Soundtracks? Lucinda?"

"I'll let Baz explain," Simon said.

"Traitor," Baz said, and Penny gave Simon a surprised look.

It wasn't a very long explanation, but it was a decidedly peculiar one. By the time Baz had explained, complete with Simon pitching in and a short confirmation phone call with Lucinda, Penny looked as if she wanted to kill someone, preferably Simon.

"Penny?" Simon squeezed his foster sister's hand. "I thoughtit'd help if you saw that it was real, you know, with Baz being surprised at the beginning of the call."

"Honestly, the two of you working in tandem is enough to convince me," Penny said. She gave Simon a shrewd look. "Are you two-"

"Do you think you could convince Agatha?" Simon asked loudly.

"I can try," Penny said. She rubbed her eyes. "Under one condition."

"What's that?" Baz asked.

"You have the wedding here," Penny said, and the sound of a crash came from Simon's phone.

"We're not getting married!" Baz yelled.

"I've known you for years, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, you can't fool me. Go home, Simon, for real this time."

"Call if you need anything?" Simon kissed her on the cheek

"Obviously. Scat. Baz, if you hurt him, et cetera."

"Can you not, Pen?" Simon asked. "We're waiting for when this all blows over."

"Of course."

"Thank you," Baz said gratefully, and the call ended.

_\\*/_

Simon tackled Martin the next morning, as he was opening up the shop. When he finished, Martin gave him a strange look and shrugged. "Yeah, why not."

Simon gaped at him. "Really?"

"Well, I don't see why you'd make it up, and there's a huge bird that comes in every night for a few months now and steals my yellow apples, I caught it on the security cameras," Martin said. "And I thought about what you said the other day, about the Snow Queen, and when I kissed the artichokes the ice melted, so I guess I'll help."

_\\*/_

Niall asked him what he'd been taking, naming every prescription medicine known to humankind until Simon gave up and called Baz. Dev showed Simon the treasure he'd found the previous day in his gran’s old jewelry chest.

"Oh, thank god," Elspeth said when Simon got to her. "I've been waiting for this ever since the one-eyed shepherd with the name fixation."

_\\*/_

"I don't know if you've heard but town square has grown a huge stone with an anvil stuck to it," Agatha said, which to be fair was only the third weirdest way she had ever started a phone conversation with Simon.

"Lovely," Simon said. "Fabulous. Fan-fucking-tastic."

"You're lucky it's my day off. I'm here with Lucinda and Penny said there aren't any guests at the inn."

"Is the ritual ready?" Simon asked. Elspeth gave him a look that made Simon regret his life choices.

"Yes, and she says-" and here there was a little bit of static before Lucinda's voice said, very clearly, "get your troupe here right now or we're all going to wake up tomorrow to a "Morning Person" montage."

"I'll send out a group text." Simon held out a hand to Elspeth and mouthed _phone_ to her. Elspeth rolled her eyes and handed it over. "By the way, how was your date with my sister?"

"Magical. If I hurt her they'll never find the body, I promise to treat you like a princess, and if I knock her up I promise we'll get married. Happy?"

"I don't think Penny wants kids, actually. See you there." Simon hung up and finished the text. "Els, can we take your truck?"

"If you don't mind dried dog vomit," Elspeth said, already grabbing her keys. "Where to?"

"Town square."

Elspeth gave him a look. "Simon?"

"Yes?"

"You know that's five minutes’ walk, right?"

_\\*/_

The town square had grown, not only an anvil stuck to a rock, but bunting and a marching band. Just the music, not the band itself.

"This is creepy," Elspeth said, when she and Simon joined the group of confused twenty-somethings.

"It's not even genre appropriate," Lucinda said. "There is nothing in the manual for this."

"There's a manual?" Elspeth asked.

"Of course there's a manual, but we're winging it. Baz, the sword?" Lucinda nodded her thanks when Baz handed over the sword Simon had used to kill the dragon. "Okay, since the setting is vaguely Arthurian-" and here Lucinda glared at the bunting- "we're doing Sword in the Stone. As far as I can figure out, this is a prophecy, and we're sending it back to sleep until the heir materializes."

"What heir?" Dev asked.

"Exactly, there isn't one. Don't have babies," Lucinda told Simon.

"Wasn't planning on it," Simon said, holding up both hands.

"Good, they shouldn't be the heirs anyways, I am flying by the seat of my pants here." Lucinda took a deep breath. "Okay. Here's what-"

A loud 'meow' came from ground level.

Everyone looked down. A large tabby looked up at them.

"Bad cat," Lucinda said, at the same time Elspeth said, "Oh, what a sweetheart!" They both bent down at the same time, and their hands touched on the cat's head.

Simon met Baz's eyes. _Meet cute_ , he mouthed.

Baz mouthed something unintelligible back.

"Oh, is he yours?" Elspeth stood up, and Lucinda followed, cat in her arms.

"Yes, this is Gizmo." The cat draped itself across her shoulders. "He's a terrible brat."

"But he's just worried for you," Elspeth said. "Aren't you, Gizmo?"

"You can understand him?" Lucinda asked.

"Kind of?" Elspeth shrugged. "I've always been good with animals."

"This explains so much," Dev muttered.

"Okay," Agatha said loudly. "Can we do the thing already? This is not how I planned to spend my day off."

"Yes," Lucinda said. "Right. Everyone stand in a circle around the anvil. Simon, here." She shoved the sword into Simon's hands. "There's a prophecy on the stone, there always is. You read it out loud, being sufficiently dramatic about it all, and then you stick the sword in the anvil, everyone chants after you, I'm so sorry about that part, and then you step back and the whole mess sinks back into the ground and everything goes back to normal." Lucinda considered this for a moment. "Well, normal for Watford, anyways."

"Let's do this, then," Martin said, and they formed a ring around the anvil, holding hands.

"In you go, Simon," Penny said, trying to be cheerful about it and failing horribly. Nevertheless, Simon gave her a smile that felt more like a grimace and stepped inside the circle of his friends, Niall and Baz unlinking their hands for him to pass and closing the circle after him.

Simon approached the anvil. The stone was smooth, and for a second Simon thought something had gone wrong- well, wronger. And then the prophecy appeared, and Simon let out a snort.

"Careful," Lucinda said

"Whomsoever can pull this sword from the stone is the true heir to the Mage," Simon intoned. Then he lifted the sword over his head and brought it down. It slid through the anvil like butter, lodging in the stone. Simon let go slowly, and the whole thing began to rumble.

"Whomsoever..." Agatha began, and the rest joined in hurriedly.

When they'd finished, the rumbling stopped, and Niall said, "Did we do it wro-"

Everyone flew backward, Simon the hardest, thrown off his feet by the sudden earthquake. His head hit something hard, and everything went black.

_\\*/_

"Simon," an elderly voice said. "My brave, brave boy."

"Wha..." Simon mumbled.

"Simon! Wake up! Idiot, of course you'd get yourself hurt."

_\\*/_

Simon surfaced to Baz's worried expression. "Oh, thank god. How many fingers am I holding up?" Baz asked.

"Um, none?"

Baz nodded. "Good enough."

"Did it work?" Simon sat up, rubbing his head. Baz helped him get to his feet. "The bunting's gone. And the sword."

"Does anyone feel like bursting randomly into song, complete with snazzy dance number?" Lucinda asked. There was a chorus of "no". "It worked.

"If you gave yourself a concussion, Simon..." Penny hugged him. "I'm so proud of you."

"It'll look great on my resume," Simon agreed.

The group slowly scattered, everyone going their separate ways. Baz and Simon stayed, inspecting the place where the stone and anvil had stood.

"I'm sorry," Simon said.

"What for?" Baz asked.

"Your dad's sword. You won't get it back," Simon said.

Baz smiled at him. "I don't need it. Anyways, I have other things from my parents. I've got my mom's recipe book, and she never disowned me."

Simon turned eager, wide eyes on him. "Recipe book?"

"Best _bibimbap_ you ever had," Baz promised. They stood there for a little longer, and then Baz said, "Well, I've got this week's _Chronicle_ to finish."

"I should get back to the inn, the new guests should arrive in a couple of hours," Simon said. They left the square behind.

"What do you think the Mage is?" Baz asked.

Simon shrugged. "Hell if I know."

_\\*/_

 

Epilogue

"Remember," Baz began, and Simon groaned.

"Can't we just go to sleep?"

"Remember when you-"

"I have work tomorrow-"

"-when you asked-"

"and it's two in the morning-"

"You asked why I like you," Baz said, which made Simon quiet down. "I'll tell you."

"You will?"

"Sometimes," Baz said, "it just happens. Like stories."

"Slowly, and then all at once?" Simon asked, and got pinched for his troubles.

"You little shit, I try romance and get John Green quoted at me? You're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Noooo..."

"Yes..." Baz mimicked, slinging a leg over one of Simon's. "Now shush, I'm trying to go to sleep."

"I like you too," Simon whispered.

"Who likes you?"

"You."

"I looooove you," Baz said. "Difference."

"Oh," Simon said. "I love you, too."

They were almost asleep when Baz said, suddenly, "That was the first time we said I love you, wasn't it."

"Yeah," Simon said, and rolled over to press his forehead to Baz’s. "But we knew already.

(And if there were still bluebirds in Baz's morning showers, well, he didn't mind too much. They were pretty good at harmonizing nowadays.) 


End file.
